


Selfish

by distantsun



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantsun/pseuds/distantsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Selfish isn't the worst thing sometimes. (Human!Cole, established relationship sexytimes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selfish

“Reciprocity,” she murmured into his neck.

Cole shivered. “I know what that means,” he said. “And if I didn’t—well, you’re being awfully _loud_.”

They were tangled together on the mattress in his little loft, another sweet midday tryst, taking the moment where they could find it. She liked how the sunlight filtered through the windows and made his hair glow. She liked almost everything about him. He was sweet and giving and so, so selfless.

Too selfless. She nipped lightly at his neck, felt him shiver again. “And?”

“And I don’t understand.” She pulled back, enough to see the slight concerned crease between his eyes. “Don’t you like… what we do? _Friction, fulfillment, a sweet ache subsiding. Never known someone so patient, perceptive, painstaking patterns of pleasure. He just_ knows.”

She could feel herself flushing red, still not used to his uncanny ability to lay her bare— _mentally_ —with a handful of pretty poetic words. “Of course I do. I just want to do more for you.”

“I don’t matter,” he said automatically, and caught the full weight of her glare. “Sorry. I know you don’t like me to say that.” His hand trailed through her hair, thoughtfully stroking. “But—it shouldn’t be only for me. Not when there’s so much _wanting_ in you. I want to help. _Need_ to help.”

“Okay,” she said softly, letting him pull her down. She wouldn’t press the issue. He would get there on his own time, as he had with everything else. Slow, steady, deliberate, like his hands on her body. She closed her eyes and let him help.

\---

Weeks later, pressing her into a wall, he said: “Reciprocity. I’ve been thinking.”

She raised an eyebrow, couldn’t stop a smirk from twitching at the corner of her lips. “Yes?”

“You think about— _that_ —a lot. And I don’t understand why you’d want to, but I think I’m starting to.” He took a deep, slow breath. “ _Searing salt-sweet skin, taste of tension on my tongue and he’s kneading, needing, need this—_ "

“Cole—" He was making the inside of her head sound like one of Cassandra’s novels, and she could feel her face burning again.

“No. I get it.” His eyes were clear, direct. “You want me to know. I _do_ matter. You want me. All of me, focused, feeling, for you.”

“…Yes.” It was all she could say.

He bit his lip, thoughtfully. “I was for helping, always, only. I suppose I am for other things, too, now.” With a hint of his deadly battle-grace, he pivoted, pressing his own back to the wall and drawing her up against him. One hand moved into her hair. Paused. Tightened, with a slow steady pressure, into a fist. “So… okay.”

“Okay?” she breathed, breathless.

“Okay. All for me, like you wanted.” He was gripping her hair, not pulling, just _holding,_ waiting. Her heart fluttered, and all at once she was _on_ him, kissing him fiercely, taking control as he’d never allowed her to before.

She wanted to take her time, but she found herself tugging impatiently at his belt, untangling him from his leathers, making a frustrated sound as he covered her hands with his own and helped, _always helping,_ laughing softly against her lips. Then he was naked before her and she had time to look, really _look_ at him, pale skin and paler puckered scars that felt rough under her fingertips, his lean chest, the subtly defined muscles in his arms and legs.

“Cole,” she breathed, trailing kisses along his neck, across his chest. “You are— _beautiful_.” She’d never said it before, never told him anything about how he looked, how she saw him. It seemed important, now.

“I—" He started to speak, his voice catching when her lips brushed over his nipple. She flickered her tongue over it and he jerked as if he’d been shocked, his breathing going ragged. He was so sensitive, always was, and she’d touched him like this before but they’d both always been distracted, and she’d never had the chance to—

“ _…take my time, touching, teasing, tensing, want to make him feel what I feel, desperate, deserving, desired—I want…_ I want…” He was trembling, his hand fisted in her hair again, thoughts tripping out of his mouth, her thoughts, his thoughts, sometimes it was hard to tell the difference in these moments. It urged her on, her hands skimming and sliding over every inch of him she could reach, her mouth finding the most sensitive spots and kissing, licking, nipping until he couldn’t breathe to speak.

And then she was on her knees, staring up at him-- his hair disheveled, his eyes dark with desire—and she said, softly, “Okay?” and he panted “Okay,” and she leaned forward, slow, slow, and took him into her mouth.

He made a sound she’d never heard before, and now he _was_ pulling her hair, a little, and his other hand hovered and fluttered over her head and shoulders as if he didn’t know where to put it but couldn’t keep still. She pressed his hips into the wall with one hand, holding him steady, and together they fell into a slow rhythm, her lips sliding down the length of his shaft and back up.

He was shaking outright, half-collapsed against the wall, its support clearly the only reason his legs were still holding him up. He moaned nonsense as her tongue swirled around the head of his cock, something about heat and softness and how _impossible_ that anything could feel like this, and when she took him fully into her mouth again and hummed softly around him he came apart, whimpering, nearly sobbing something that sounded like her name as his climax tore through him.

She had to help him slide down the wall to join her on the floor, and it took him several minutes to stop shaking. His hands clutched at her, and he pressed his face into her hair-- she could feel the heat of it through her scalp. She was just beginning to worry that he hadn’t liked it, cold fingers of doubt creeping over her belly, when he lifted his head and beamed at her through sweat-plastered blond hair.

“You did that for me,” he murmured, wonderingly. “I thought it would be selfish. I didn’t know.”

She grinned. “Selfish isn’t the worst thing sometimes.”

His hands were steadier, and he gently pressed her shoulders down, back against the wood floor.

“What are you doing?”

He grinned back. “Reciprocity.”


End file.
